


He Plays Pretend

by stylesharrys



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Choking, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Nurse!Reader, Smut, Song: She (Harry Styles), mentions of cum play, neighbor!harry, somewhat exhibitionism, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylesharrys/pseuds/stylesharrys
Summary: He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to her getting off with some one night stand, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.“Nine in the morning, the man drops his kids off at school.”She’s giggling again and he can hear her body fall to the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall that his is and he hears it creak under her weight, feels the wall tremble slightly as her bedframe knocks against it.His hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he kicks off his boxers and his sheets, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.Harry hears her soft whimpers, can hear her hum in appreciation even over the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more.; the fact that he can hear her getting off and moaning out, or that she’s listening to him while another man fucks her.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Reader, Harry Styles/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 125





	He Plays Pretend

The scent of the Chinese takeout bagged in Harry’s hands is enough to make his knees buckle. It’s been a long day of straining his voice, scribbling uncoordinated lyrics and leaving the studio to realise he left his keys inside and had to climb six flights of stairs again because the elevator was out of order.

He can practically hear his sofa calling his name, can taste the cold bottles of beer that sit in his fridge. He’s a twenty-four-year-old rockstar that’s just released his first debut album, and he’s spending his Saturday night alone with a takeaway.

Someone who isn’t doomed to the same sad fate is Y/N, the nurse next door who’s all dressed up in a tight pink midi dress that hugs every ounce of her skin perfectly. Her hair falls in loose curls down her back as she locks the front door and she’s shoving her keys into the tiny clutch she’s got hanging from her shoulder on a thick silver chain when she notices him.

“Oh, hey,” she greets softly, offering a bright and friendly smile. Harry returns it, chest swelling. Y/N is a beautiful girl, there’s no denying that. She isn’t a drop-dead gorgeous woman with legs for days and perfectly rounded hips. She’s got a nice bum and a small pouch on her lower stomach, and the little dips in her hips are what sends him over.

He’s never seen her dressed in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt or her work scrubs. He’s never been given the opportunity to see her so dolled up, to notice that little love handles he can suddenly imagine himself gripping. He clears his throat and smiles wider.

“‘Lo, love. Yeh look lovely,” he compliments kindly, fingers fiddling with his keys to keep him busy. He watches her blush at his comment, how she purses her lips to hide her shy smile and it makes him fucking throb.

She knows who he is, of course, she does. She bumped into him six months ago when she was moving in next door. He remembers it like yesterday. He could hear her panting and cursing in the hall, hauling boxes up and down the stairs and he came out to help. She didn’t recognise him at first, not until he was in her flat setting boxes down that she turned to him with wide eyes and a breathy, “ _oh wow, aren’t you that dude from that band?”_

Okay… so maybe she didn’t know _who_ he was, but she was on the right track. He remembers the way they shook hands as she told him her name, remembers his eyes darting around the already nicely decorated flat that’s layout almost mirrored his completely. His look of confusion was when she told him she recently got a residency in the hospital nearby and how her hugely successful aunt lives in L.A and offered up her London home to her niece in need, promised she’d only have to pay for groceries and Y/N was in no position to turn the offer down.

“Thank you,” her soft voice breaks him from his trip down memory lane. “Just a night out with the girls, been a long week,” she sighs out a polite smile and he nods in agreement. He’s tapping his key against the knuckle on his thumb as she rocks back and forth on her heels.

“Well have fun, ‘nd be safe,” he says tenderly, a wholesome smile on those pink lips. Y/N nods her head as she waves her hand softly in a bid of goodbye. He waits until she’s rounded the corner before he unlocks his door and kicks off his shoes.

Harry gently tosses the takeout bag on the coffee table on his way to the kitchen, grabbing bottles of beer by their necks with his looped fingers, kicking the fridge closed behind him. His entire flat is dark but he doesn’t see the point in turning any lights on when he knows the TV works just fine.

There’s only an ounce of loneliness for Harry when he eats his dinner alone and watches some sappy rom-com that was already playing when he turned the television on. He doesn’t long for his friends but a secret part of him craves for a woman by his side… for the woman next door.

He wonders what it’d be like for her to be cuddled into his side as they watched the movie. Wonders if she’d laugh at certain parts and crane her neck up to pepper soft kisses to his pink lips. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tries to rid the thoughts of her from his mind.

But it’s proven a little more difficult when he takes to his shower and the water is running down his tense and naked body. He struggles to not think about her on her knees, touching his thick cock and kissing up his thighs.

He has to swallow back the lump in his throat and blinks away the urge to touch himself to the thought of her. He refuses to be that kind of guy. So instead, when his hand still starts to wrap around his hardening cock, he thinks of the most disgusting thing he can and gets out of the shower.

Harry plays the guitar for a bit of the evening, humming along to melodic tunes he’ll bring to the studio tomorrow to pass the time away. Somewhere through remastering one of Stevie’s old songs, he catches sight of the clock on the wall and he’s confused as to how it’s already a little past midnight.

It’s when he’s locking his doors and crawling into bed that he hears a soft giggle muffled from the wall behind his head. He knows that giggle to be of Y/N’s and it’s only just occurring to him that perhaps her bedroom is mirroring his.

He’s kicking off his sweats as he throws his cover over his almost naked body and he can hear another sweet giggle fall from her lips. He tries not to let the sound affect him, he knows what’s about to go down past midnight for her. 

She’s brought someone home.

He can hear soft moans slipping from her pink lips but there’s a high, robotic voice that announces the Bluetooth is successfully connected and he knows he’s about to hear her fuck playlist. The thought sends a thrill through his body and he knows he’s unlikely going to get any sleep tonight.

He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to her getting off with some one night stand, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.

_“Nine in the morning, the man drops his kids off at school.”_

She’s giggling again and he can hear her body fall to the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall that his is and he hears it creak under her weight, feels the wall tremble slightly as her bedframe knocks against it.

His hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he kicks off his boxers and his sheets, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.

Harry hears her soft whimpers, can hear her hum in appreciation even over the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more.; the fact that he can hear her getting off and moaning out, or that she’s listening to _him_ while another man fucks her.

Either way, his hand is wrapped tight around his thick length, thumbing over his oozing tip. He thinks of how she must be, how she’d look completely naked and sprawled out on the bed for him. Harry imagines himself on top of her, kissing at those perky tits and wrapping his lips around her swelling nipples. He thinks he can taste her on his tongue, can feel her dainty fingers tugging at his hair.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps through the wall. He can imagine her eyes rolling back when he finally sheathes himself inside her tight little cunt, can see the look of ecstasy on her face when her jaw falls slack and her body quivers. He knows she’d feel him deep in her stomach.

“Fuck,” he pants out breathlessly. He’s tugging at his dick, spitting down on it to get it a little wet. He knows she’s so much wetter on the other side of the damn wall. Harry’s head is thrown back in his pillow, eyes shut tight and he knows he’s breaking a sweat that’s dotting at his hairline.

“Fuck, baby… so good.”

Everything feels surreal, like he’s in his own personal heaven with a touch of hell. She’s crying out for more, begging for it _deeper, baby, harder,_ and he finds himself fucking into his fist the way she’s desperate for. Like his soft palm is her silky pussy.

Harry can’t focus on anything other than her sweet fucking cries that sounds fucking otherwordly against his song. It’s when he stops singing that she really lets herself go, filthy fucking moans and whines and God he wishes he could watch her. She’s trembling and begging as the instrumental plays out loud and hard, and Harry can’t handle it.

Gruff moans are slipping past his lips and he does nothing to try and conceal them. His arm is burning a naked fire in his muscles but he fucks his cock harder, his other hand fondling with his lonely balls and he wants to feel them slap at her ass as he pounds her into her creaky mattress.

He can feel the coil tightening in his stomach, the way his cock starts to twitch. His imagination grows wild and it’s like he’s on top of her, hand around her throat as he shoves his cock in her dripping hole. He thinks he can taste her tongue on his, thinks he can hear her pussy squelching so filthily because he’s got her _that_ wet. He thinks he can feel her nails scratching down his back, thinks he can feel her clench around him.

Harry’s mind takes him to sinful places. “ _Open your mouth,_ ” he can hear himself seeth through gritted teeth. He can see himself spitting on her tongue, see her swallowing it like the good fucking girl she is. “ _I’m gonna cum, H, please let me cum!_ ” he can hear his voice echoing through his ears like a fucking prayer.

“Ugh, ‘m cumming, oh fuck!” Harry cries out gruffly through strangled moans and he hears her screams follow. Y/N’s bed is creaking louder than before and he knows her thighs are fucking trembling as she comes around the stranger’s cock. Harry’s got his hand and thighs covered in thick ribbons of white arousal and when his eyes flutter open, through blotched white vision, he can see her kneeling between his thighs and licking him up.

He’s completely fucked as he hears his song mellow out and she isn’t moaning anymore. Instead, he can hear her breathless, pretty giggles and her little pants for breath. He stays where he is for a second, eager to see what else he can hear. Her bed creaks again and he supposes the stranger has got up to clean themselves off. But he doesn’t hear Y/N anymore and the song changes to complete and utter silence.

He doesn’t hear the bed creak again or any other noise from her side of the wall, and when it nears 1 am, he figures the pair are sleeping.

Harry doesn’t sleep the entire night. He can’t. He’s kept awake with the thrill and guilt of listening to his neighbour have sex through the bedroom wall. Or is it with the thrill and guilt of pretending that it was him? He isn’t sure, even after thinking about it all night.

He’s been in the living room, strumming notes on the guitar and plucking inspiration out of his frazzled brain. He doesn’t hear anymore movement from her flat or the hall for the rest of the night. The narcissistic part of Harry wants to catch who the stranger is. Wants to know if his song playing while she had sex, was a coincidence or if her lover for the night holds any resemblance to him.

But as closely (and creepily) as he listens, he doesn’t hear any sign of someone sneaking out and he wonders if maybe it’s not a stranger and perhaps she’s been seeing someone? He doesn’t know why but the thought makes his jaw tick.

It’s 6 am when he’s going downstairs to check his little mailbox, doing something to pass the early morning and to possibly sneak a peek at the stranger. Harry thinks 6 am is a reasonable time to sneak out of a brief lover’s arms. And he thinks he’s about to hit the jackpot when he’s about to unlock his door and her one opens.

She’s yawning as she tugs her purse up her shoulder; wearing her work scrubs and her hair in a loose braid down her back. He frowns with a smile when she notices him. _She’s alone_. His heart is hammering in his chest because she has no idea he heard every word she muttered last night.

“Work this early after yeh were out last night? Yer brave,” he jokes softly with her, watching her tired eyes gleam a little. She wasn’t being quiet when she left her apartment, so Harry’s about damn certain she’s seeing someone. She huffs out a laugh and rubs her face with a groan.

“I got called in as an emergency,” she explains through another yawn before her face is holding a jokingly stern expression and she’s pointing a finger at him. “And in my defence, you can hardly count last night as a _night out_. I was home by 11 and asleep by 1,” she explains.

Harry tries not to let his brows pinch. Home by 11? He didn’t hear her until 12:30 when she was whining and giggling in bed. He raises his brows and leans on his locked front door. “Oh?” he plays dumb. “That bad?” he continues, “no lucky fella’s then? Know yeh friends are always trying t’ set yeh up.”

He wonders if she thinks he’s being nosy, being creepy. Or maybe if she’s realised that he heard her. But Y/N’s friends have embarrassed her in front of Harry enough times in passing for that question to be absolutely normal between the two acquaintances.

She barks out a laugh. “Not a chance. Came home alone, went to bed alone – _that_ was the highlight of my night,” she blushes inwardly. “But I’ve gotta get going, nice to see ya, early bird,” she smiles softly, offering a wave goodbye as she passes him.

Harry doesn’t watch her round the corner and he doesn’t say anything back, his eyes are too glued to the spot she was just standing in. She came home alone and went to bed alone? But by the sounds that Harry remembers, she was definitely doing _something_ with his voice filling her ears and room… unless…

Oh…

**_Oh._ **


End file.
